


Punishment

by quaffanddoff



Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Choking, Dark fic, Evil Michael, F/M, Face Slapping, Forced Sex, Season 2, Set during the reboots, heed the archive warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-19 13:42:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22245298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quaffanddoff/pseuds/quaffanddoff
Summary: Michael considers himself to be above the simple, crass violence of the real Bad Place. But sometimes a demon reverts to his old ways.
Relationships: Michael (The Good Place)/Eleanor Shellstrop
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	Punishment

It was true that Michael had moved on to more sophisticated forms of torture. The old ways were so uncivilized. They were mostly physical: blunt, sharp, hot, cold, same old, same old. The few psychological aspects were largely obvious and terribly clichéd: gloom, darkness, ominous suspense. Yawn. Michael vastly preferred working on his more subtle, clever torture techniques. Although they were more convoluted and frequently went awry, he thrived on the challenge. He would choose these innovative methods over the old, tired ones any day.

Except…once in a while, it all got to be too much. The frustration, the futility. When that happened, he’d lose his patience. He’d get angry. He’d act out.

Reboot #78, for example. Eleanor had realized what was happening—again!—and a wave of fury had crashed over him. Without thinking, he reared back and struck her across the face. Her head whipped to the side and she fell hard to the ground. She stared up at him, the look on her face registering more shock than pain. A few moments ago, Michael had been something like a God to her, and now, suddenly, he was a vicious animal. 

Chidi, Tahani, and Jason had stood silently gaping, seemingly unable to process the betrayal. Michael clasped his hands together, restraining himself. He couldn’t believe he allowed himself to revert to such a base form of violence. “I’m sorry, Eleanor,” he said sincerely. “I thought I was above that kind of thing.”

Before their confusion could even sink in, he had snapped his fingers and rebooted their world.

Similar events ended up occurring in Reboots #364, 503, and 622. Pushed beyond the limits of his patience, Michael had lost it and physically attacked the humans. Each time, he felt ashamed afterward. Why couldn’t he control himself? Yes, he was an evil demon, but did he have to be so…crass? If he was going to lose his cool and revert to this kind of coarse vulgarity every time he was foiled, he was no better than the drones in the real Bad Place, content to inflict the same unimaginative barbarism on humans for endless eons. 

Michael wanted to believe he was better than his colleagues. But his sense of superiority was tarnished every time he lashed out. Maybe it was time to admit the truth: a demon is a demon and there’s no point in trying to change that.

During Reboot #799, Eleanor had her damn epiphany once more, and Michael felt his self-restraint slipping away. Senseless with rage, he picked her up by the shoulders and slammed her against a wall. Once again, she stared up at him with a mixture of surprise and horror.

This time when she had had her realization, they were alone together. They were arguing in her Icelandic primitive style living room. On the walls all around them, clowns simpered and cackled from within the frames of their paintings. Michael felt as though their mirth were directed specifically at his impotent failure.

Eleanor tried to twist out of his grasp but he only gripped her harder. She flailed and struggled; just like in #78, he subdued her with a powerful smack across the face. This time, she didn’t fall to the ground because she was pinned to the wall by his body. She went limp, though, and her eyes shone with tears. The sight only made him angrier. He slammed her back against the wall again with inhuman strength. The back of her skull bounced off the concrete and she shrieked in pain. He grabbed her hair right at the point of impact and yanked her head back. With his other hand, he seized her exposed throat. He pushed his hips into hers to keep her immobilized.

Michael was panting with exertion, his chest heaving. In contrast, Eleanor had ceased to breathe at all, and her face was gradually turning redder and more panicked. 

Michael knew that what he was doing was a personal, intimate kind of torture that crossed the line even by normal Bad Place standards. But he was long past the point of no return. Eleanor was no longer human to him, but instead, a mere symbol: she represented all of his dashed hopes and thwarted ambitions, all of his missteps and miscalculations. He had gambled everything on this one proposition. He had bet big, and now he had lost. He had only himself to blame. 

But he had somebody else to punish.

Eleanor gasped desperately for air as her throat was finally released. She continued to cough and wheeze as she was dragged across the living room and tossed carelessly onto the raised wooden platform of her bedroom. From there, she was hauled up onto her bed. The absurd, ironic melody that played when the doors slid shut seemed to mock her.

The small bedroom was then suffused with a deadly silence. Michael didn’t need to use his hands or his body to pin her down anymore; she was clamped down by the vise of her fear. He loomed over her, the cruelty unmistakable in his eyes, and reached for her again. He set to work on those odd clothes fastenings which had always struck him as a particularly bizarre and quaint Earth invention. 

Although he wasn’t technically human, he had modeled his physical form after human anatomy, and the results were relatively similar to the prototype in appearance and function. Of course, he didn’t have a human’s instinctual drives or desires. His actions were motivated not by lust, but by his anger, his aggression, his determination to regain his lost power by stealing it from another. 

The last shreds of any ideals of sophistication or civility he may have once held were fully abandoned as he forced himself inside her. The sensation of pain combined with pleasure made her bite back a moan; he savored her confusion and shame at her body’s betrayal. Soon enough, her memory of this violation would be gone; but for now, he began inflicting upon her a type of torment that was considered monstrous in both her realm and his alike, a level of suffering that even demons can’t abide, a kind of punishment that’s not even dealt out in Hell.


End file.
